A TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE TO ATHABASCA LANDING
During their stay in Edmonton, the two Indian rivermen had been living
royally in a lodging house near the depot. Early on the morning of the
departure, Colonel Howell rounded up his old employees and when the mixed
freight and passenger train backed up to the depot, the party was ready
to board it. It was with satisfaction that all saw two Chicago & North
Western freight cars, which Colonel Howell identified as those containing
his oil outfit, and next to the extra passenger coach, the special
baggage car.
A mist was falling and it was not cheerful. It was time for Mr. Zept to
take his leave. For some moments he and Colonel Howell spoke apart and
then, without any special word of admonition to his son, he grasped the
hand of each boy in turn.
"I hope you'll all be friends," was his general good-bye, "and that
you'll all stand by each other. Good-bye. Colonel Howell is my friend and
I advise all of you to do just as he tells you. Take care of yourselves,"
and with no further words, the rich ranch owner helped the little party
to load its baggage into the express car.
There were many curious people at the depot, among whom, not the least
conspicuous, were Moosetooth and La Biche. Men from the frontier and a
dapper young mounted policeman all came to speak to the two Indians.
With most of the passengers either hanging out of the car windows or
jammed together on the platforms--for at the last moment, Colonel Howell
had readily given his consent to the superintendent that he might also
throw open the special car to the general public, as far at least as
Morineville, the end of the passenger run--the creaking train crawled
around a bend, and while the boys and Colonel Howell waved a farewell to
Mr. Zept, the journey northward on the new road began.
The privacy of the special car at once disappeared. The unusual jam was
due to the impassable condition of the stage trail. Into the special car
there came not only hunters and traders, but many women and children who
had prevailed upon the railway officials to help them forward on the last
stage of their journey into the river land.
As the pitching train made its way slowly beyond the city limits, Norman,
Roy and Paul also found themselves on the platform, ready for the first
sight of a new country. They were looking for sterile plains. Instead,
they found black land freely dotted with clumps of trees, with walls of
wild flowers on each side of the track. Magnificent strawberries almost
reddened the ground, while, by the fences, the ripening Saskatoon berry
gave the first positive sign of the new vegetation of which they were to
see so much.
For three hours the train crept forward, stopping now and then at little
stations, and at last reached the considerable settlement of Morineville.
Here, Colonel Howell expected to meet the construction train to which the
special car was to be attached, and from this point they were to make the
remainder of their journey of seventy-five miles to Athabasca Landing as
the sole passengers of their car.
But bad news awaited the travelers. The construction train had not
arrived but it was expected during the afternoon. The superintendent,
taking leave of his guests, left orders that their car should be
forwarded on the returning construction train and at noon he left on the
passenger train for Edmonton. Colonel Howell's car was switched onto a
spur and then began a wait for news of the construction train.
An affable telegraph operator did what he could to appease the anxious
travelers. By telephone he learned that the expected train had not yet
made half the journey between Athabasca Landing and Morineville, and in
that distance had been off the track four times. On the operator's
suggestion, the adventurers made their way to the village for dinner and
then returned to their car and spent the afternoon in hearing from time
to time that the construction train was off the track again.
"Promises well for a night ride!" suggested Roy.
"It doesn't mean anything," explained Colonel Howell. "They just slap
down an iron frog and run on again. Don't get scared about that."
When time for supper arrived, the agent gave it as his judgment that the
train couldn't get in before midnight and, in that event, that it
certainly would not go back until the next morning. Being assured by this
employee that in case his theory was not correct he would send them word,
the party abandoned their car to have supper and sleep in a little French
hotel.
The supper was bad and the beds were worse. Norman and Roy longed for
their new blankets and the woods, and slept with difficulty. Some time,
about the middle of the night, the two boys heard the strident shriek of
a locomotive. They at once rushed to Colonel Howell's room, eager to make
their way back to the depot, but recalling the operator's promise, the
prospector persuaded them to go to bed again and when it was daylight
they all awoke to find no train in sight. But the operator was waiting
for them and ate breakfast with the party.
"She come in with a busted cylinder," he exclaimed, "and they had to go
to Edmonton to get 'er fixed. But she'll be back this morning sometime
and you'll have a nice ride to the Landing." Then he laughed. "That is,
if you can pull a heavy passenger coach over them tracks."
It was eleven o'clock when the old-fashioned engine reappeared but any
motive power seemed good enough and when the little Irish conductor read
his orders, he cheerfully busied himself in making the passenger car and
the three other cars a part of his train. The spirit of discontent
disappeared and once again the northbound expedition was on its way.
Until twelve o'clock that night, the indefatigable little Irishman pushed
his heavy train, which included many cars of long-delayed freight, over
the new tracks, which alternately seemed to float and sink into the soft
sand and muskeg. Four times in that journey some one car of the train
slid off the track and just as often the energetic crew pulled it back
again. Once the accident was more serious. When the piling-up jarring
told that another pair of wheels were in the muskeg and the train came to
a crashing stop, it was found that the front axles of the car had jammed
themselves so far rearward that the car was out of service. But again
there was little delay. With two jack screws, the little Irishman lifted
the car sideways and toppled it over. Coupling up the other cars, the
train proceeded.
At six o'clock in the evening supper was found in the cook car of a
construction camp. It did not grow dark until eleven o'clock, and by this
time, Colonel Howell and his friends were beginning to get a little sleep
curled up on the seats of their car. An hour later, having creakingly
crossed a long trestle, the strange train, still bumping and rattling,
made its way along the even newer and worse track which led into
Athabasca Landing.
There were neither depot nor light to make cheer for the tired travelers.
With the help of Moosetooth and La Biche and a few half-breeds, the
considerable baggage of the party was dumped out onto the sand of the new
roadway and then, all joining in the task, it was carried across the
street to the new Alberta Hotel. For the first time the boys discovered
that there was almost a chill of frost in the air; in the office of the
hotel a fire was burning in a big stove and from the front door Colonel
Howell pointed through the starlight to a bank of mist beyond the
railroad track.
"There she is, boys," he remarked.
"You mean the river?" exclaimed Roy.
"Our river now," answered their elder. "There's plenty of room here and
good beds. Turn in and don't lose any time in the morning. We've got
nothing ahead of us now but work. And remember, too, you're not in the
land of condensed milk yet; you'll have the best breakfast to-morrow
morning you're going to have for many a day."
Moosetooth and old La Biche had already disappeared toward the misty
riverbank.
Dawn came early the next morning and with almost the first sign of it
Norman and Roy were awake. From their window they had their first sight
of the Athabasca. A light fog still lay over the river and the
three-hundred-foot abrupt hills on the far side. Had they been able to
make out the tops of these hills, they would have seen a few poplar
trees. A steep brown road that started from the end of a ferry and
mounted zigzag into the fog, was the beginning of a trail that at once
passed into a desolate wilderness. They were within sight of the endless
untraveled land that reached, unbroken by civilization, to the
far-distant Arctic.
Beneath the fog the wide river slipped southward, a waveless sheet moving
silently as oil, and whose brown color was only touched here and there by
floating timber and the spume of greasy eddies.
"Not very cheerful looking," was Norman's comment.
"No," answered Roy, "she's no purling trout-brook; she couldn't be and be
what she is--one of the biggest rivers in America."
The boys dressed and hurried through the new railroad yards to the muddy
banks of a big river. The town of Athabasca Landing lay at their backs.
The riverbank itself was as crude and unimproved as if the place had not
been a commercial center for Indians and fur men for two hundred years.
To the left there was an exception, where, close on the riverbank, white
palisades inclosed the little offices and warehouse of the Northern
Transportation Company. Just beyond this, a higher and stronger palisade
protected the riverbank from the winter ice jam. To the right and down
the river a treeless bank extended, devoid of wharves and buildings.
Opposite the main portion of the town, in this open space, a steamboat
was approaching completion on crude ways. Near this there were a few
ancient log cabins, used for generations by the Hudson's Bay Company as
workshops and storehouses.
Three blocks to the west and in the heart of the new city the old
historic H. B. Company was then erecting a modern cement and pressed
brick store, probably at the time the most northern expression of
civilization's thrift. Still farther to the south the river swerved in a
bend to the east and lost itself beyond a giant sweep of hills. Not the
least suggestive objects that came within the two boys' hasty view were a
few Hudson's Bay flatboats, moored to the bank and half full of water to
protect their tarred seams. In craft such as these, Norman and Roy, with
their friends, were now about to venture forth on the river flowing
swiftly by them, and not even the new steamboat was as attractive as
these historic "sturgeon heads."
Also, in the far distance, on the riverbank where it curved toward the
east, the young adventurers could make out the thin smoke of camp fires
where a few tents and bark shacks marked the settlement of the river
Indians. Here they knew Moosetooth and La Biche had passed the night.
Colonel Howell's prediction as to the breakfast was fully confirmed.
After this, real activity began at once. Norman and Roy knew that they
had reached the end of civilization, and had already abandoned city
clothes. Both the boys appeared in Stetson hats, flannel shirts, belts,
and half-length waterproof shoes.
Colonel Howell made no change other than to put on a blue flannel shirt.
The young Count made a more portentous display. When he rejoined the
others after breakfast, he wore a soft light hat, the wide brim of which
flapped most picturesquely. His boots were those of a Parisian
equestrian, high-heeled like those of a cowboy, but of varnished black
leather. His clothing was dark, and the belted coat fitted him trimly.
Colonel Howell left at once to give orders about the placing of his cars,
and Norman and Roy were dispatched to the Indian camp to find Moosetooth
and La Biche, who were to go a short distance up the river and bring the
waiting flatboats down to a point opposite the freight cars. This duty
appeared to interest young Zept and he cheerfully joined the other boys
in their task.
Opposite the new steamboat they passed a larger and noisier hotel, in
front of which were collected many curious people of the country, many of
whom were lazy-looking, slovenly-garbed half-breeds.
Young Zept was full of animation, spoke jovially to any one who caught
his eye and, although it was early in the day, suggested that his young
friends stop with him in the bar room. But Norman and Roy's whole
interest was in the task before them and when they saw the Count abruptly
salute a red-jacketed mounted policeman who was standing in the door of
the hotel, they hurried on without even the formality of declining Paul's
invitation.
By the time the old steersmen had been found, the Count was out of their
minds. Although the riverbank was sticky with mud, there was an
exhilarating crispness in the air and the river fog had now disappeared.
Led by the two Indians, the boys made their way a half mile up the river.
Here, on a high clean bank, stood the big red river warehouse of the H.
B. Company. Among the willow bushes opposite it was a fleet of new
"sturgeon heads," and just below these, two boats that had been put aside
for Colonel Howell.
From among the bushes near the warehouse the two Indians produced a pump
and then for two hours took turns in drawing the water from the half
submerged boats. Just before noon, Moosetooth taking his place in the
stern of the rear boat with a small steering oar, La Biche loosened the
craft and Norman and Roy were on their first voyage in the historic
flatboat of the Athabasca.
It was curious to note the skill with which the veteran riverman allowed
the current to carry his boats on their way, and the ease with which they
were finally drawn in to the bank opposite the freight cars.
Roy proposed to secure a shovel for cleaning out the mud, but old La
Biche laughed.
"The sun," he said, "he goin' do dat."
Near the landing, as the boys returned to the hotel, they discovered a
thing they had not noticed in the morning. A grizzled "Baptiste," as
Norman liked to designate each Indian, was busy with a draw knife, a
chisel and a maul, finishing steering oars. These enormous objects
resembled telegraph poles, being of pine timber, slightly flattened at
one end to resemble the blade of an oar, and at the other end cut down
into long handles that the user might clasp with his two hands.
When the Indian had roughly trimmed these giant oars, with the help of an
assistant, who in the meantime seemed to have no other duty except to
puff his charred black pipe, the old "Baptiste" balanced the piece of
timber on a rock. Carefully testing the spar, in order to get the exact
point of equilibrium, the oar maker then made a rectangular hole through
the six inches of timber. The two boys understood.
At the rear of each flatboat a steel pin extended seven or eight inches
above the woodwork. When this pin was thrust through the hole in the oar,
the great sweep hung almost balanced, and the steersman who used it to
guide the unwieldy craft forced the blade of the oar back and forth
against the current with the force of his body. The boys found it almost
impossible to lift one of the oars.
"I can see now," panted Roy, as he looked over the tree-like sweep,
"where experience comes in."